


In Dreams

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: Barbossa arrives home late at night after four months away to find the innkeeper asleep.  He doesn't wake her;  at least, not in the usual way.A gentle little semi-PWP, because I can.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), Hector Barbossa/Sophie Grantham, Hector Barbossa/The Innkeeper of Grantham House
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> References _Broken Egg_ and _I Come Before You as a Servant, Humble and Contrite._
> 
> "Childbed" was the word used at that time for "childbirth." It's considered an archaic term today.

-oOo-

"Cap'n!" Cora says in surprise, blinking herself awake and trying to neaten herself up. "When'd you get here?"

"Not long ago; p'raps an hour." Usually, the lazy Cora irritates Barbossa, but not tonight; not when he's so glad to be home. "Yer mistress about?" he asks, stepping through the door.

"The missus been abed for awhile. Prob'ly asleep by now."

"Ah well, no need t' disturb her." Barbossa doesn't bother to ask why Cora's downstairs, as he knows she likes to sleep on the parlor's settee which is as comfortable as any bed; instead, he fetches a tankard of ale from the kitchen, swallows it down, wipes a wet cloth over his face to refresh himself, and goes upstairs carrying a candle. He's careful not to bang the chamber door open, but pushes it carefully and slips inside.

The innkeeper is on her back, arms flung wide, deeply asleep. As she often does, she's pulled off her nightcap, and Barbossa smiles in pleasure at the long tumble of dark hair that spills over her pillow. "Ah, there's a sight ye are," he whispers, setting the candlestick on the vanity where it won't accidentally be knocked over. "A grand sight, m' darlin', an' I been longin' for ye somethin' awful."

Barbossa grins to himself when the innkeeper shifts in her sleep and snuffles softly a few times. He's perfectly conscious of his own loud snoring — he's woken himself up now and again with it — but the innkeeper's dainty breathiness is something he finds charming even as it embarrasses her to know he's heard it. "Don't be silly, sweet," he always teases when she blushes, ashamed of how unfeminine she must sound. "Tain't like ye honk like a bleedin' goose, like me."

Slowly, he touches the innkeeper's cheek, insinuating himself into her dreaming awareness. It will not do simply to drop down on her, very likely frightening her into thinking she's being attacked, but instead, Barbossa allows the innkeeper a light sniff at his wrist — his palm and fingers — which tells her she knows and loves and welcomes the hands that will, in a moment, begin to fondle her. "Missed ye," he says softly as his greasy hair falls in her face, but even its very grime is a welcome scent because it's his, and so familiar. 

The innkeeper doesn't open her eyes, but then, she doesn't have to — not when she's licking her lips, recognizing and appreciating Barbossa's presence — and if that weren't enough, he can hear, just once, a soft moan of, "Hector…"

His hands come down on her breasts; lightly, but enough that his thumbs tickle her nipples into standing up; enough to tempt his lips into a gentle suck of greeting. He loves doing this, does Barbossa; he'd love it in any case, but especially because it reminds him of the day he came home to discover the innkeeper was just past childbed, their stillborn son newly interred in the warm island earth. He never got to see their child, born of more love than he was willing to admit, but the innkeeper's milk still flowed and it pained her.

Each time Barbossa suckles at her bosom now, he remembers that: the sweet taste, how nourished he felt, and how she cried in relief each time he drained her. For a month and more, her milk was his, and it was a sad day for both when it slowed, then finally dried up, but the memory has never left them; either of them. It's a fine, exquisitely intimate way to wake her now from her slumber.

A tear slides down the innkeeper's cheek at the touch of Barbossa's lips and tongue on her soft, smooth flesh, and her hand slips over his shoulder, her fingers finding the sharp tooth in his right ear. "Hec… tor…" It's so often all she says — his name — but that's plenty to make him feel welcome and very, very excited.

She knows it's him now, which gives him leave to act on his passion.

The innkeeper's in a light, short chemise, which Barbossa carefully removes before throwing his own garments to the floor. He's frightfully sweaty and dirty, but never mind; tomorrow there will be a warm, refreshing bath for them both, which will banish the stink of shipboard life from his person and make it — for a few days, at least — no more than a distant recall. 

Tonight, though, he wants what he wants, and what he wants is to climb inside this beloved woman of his and feel that he's home. 

  
-oOo- FIN -oOo- 


End file.
